


things in common

by tinyfuriosa



Category: Common Law
Genre: Gen, Travis doesn't hate Wes, Wes has a bad day, also sudden Wes + Dakota friendship, and then there's therapy, because I can and I felt like it, because OF COURSE THERE IS, obviously, shows up two years late with fic, this could be pre-Wesvis if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyfuriosa/pseuds/tinyfuriosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You don't have to like the same things, you just have to hate the same things."</p>
            </blockquote>





	things in common

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mizufallsfromkumo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizufallsfromkumo/gifts), [dornessiti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornessiti/gifts).



It's been a long day.

It's been  _more_ than a day, really, because he'd been slogging through financial records half the night after finally sending Travis away at one in the morning, because at least  _one_ of them should be able to get some sleep and Travis is practically useless with financial records, so.

Six hours of small print and bright screens and the occasional break for coffee and a moment to stare into space.

Then came the actual work day; dealing with Travis and running down his new leads and then  _actually_ running down the suspect, a pursuit during which a bystander is shot (not his fault), Travis gets hit in the face (not his fault), and the guy gets away (not his fault, he had to stop to help Travis, had to help the woman bleeding on the ground, not his fault,  _not his fault_ ). _  
_

They catch up to him again later, and Wes can't even get his finger near the trigger when he pulls his gun, doesn't trust his hands to be steady- not after thirty hours awake and eight cups of coffee and a minor mental breakdown in the bathroom near Jonelle's office that no one ever uses if they can help it- so he aims at the suspect and keeps his trigger finger flush against the barrel, and wills his hands not to shake. He lets Travis make the arrest.

It's been a long day and really all Wes wants to do is go back to the hotel and just  _crash_ , honestly at this point he wouldn't even bother changing (that's a lie, he has to, his suit will get  _wrinkled_ and that is just. No. He  _cannot_ deal with that right now) and sleep for three years. But he can't because of course-  _of course_ \- it's a therapy day, because  _why wouldn't it be?_

After all of that it's just so, so easy to let something slip, to say something honestly where normally he would have deflected or just flat out kept silent.

"You don't have to like the same things but you do have to  _hate_ the same things," Dr. Ryan says, and Wes can't help but spill the first thought that comes to mind.

"Bad guys. Me. Coffee cake," he says, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

Travis starts laughing and Wes freezes, doesn't want to look up because he  _knows_ Dr. Ryan will be staring right at him and that  _she_ knows he isn't joking, like Travis seems to think.

"Travis," Dakota's voice interrupts his partner's amusement, and it's enough of a surprise that both detectives turn to stare at her.

She looking at Wes in that soppy, concerned way of hers- a look usually reserved for injured animals and crying babies and now, apparently, self-loathing homicide detectives- and for some reason Wes feels his throat closing up. He glances around with annoyingly stinging eyes just to see that they're  _all_ looking at him like that. Except for Travis.

Travis, who has only just now stopped laughing. Travis who, judging by the dawning look of understanding on his stupid face, realizes now that Wes wasn't kidding.

Travis who wasn't supposed to know about this.

But you know what? Fuck it. Wes turns to face his partner fully.

"People on ecstasy don't even like me, right?"

And he walks away.

\-----

He doesn't start the car.

As tempting as the idea of crashing might sometimes seem (usually right around three a.m. on the nights he can't sleep because his goddamn brain refuses to just. shut. off.), with the way his hands are trembling and his vision is blurring, he'd be putting other people in danger on the road and- despite what anyone might think- he's not enough of an asshole for that. Instead, he sits behind the wheel and just crumples in on himself, doesn't bother fighting the tears because at this point he knows it's a losing battle, and tries to breathe.

\-----

Dakota finds him first.

She slips away from the group once Dr. Ryan has pulled Travis to a far corner for a private moment and the others have busied themselves with talk about the two detectives, and makes her way outside.

Wes is still there, hunched in the car with his face buried in his hands, thumbs pressing in so tightly into his temples that the knuckles have gone ghostly white. It looks painful, like it might bruise later.

He's left the doors unlocked, so she pulls him out and guides him to sit next to her on the ground against the side of the car, because she doesn't really know what he needs but figures that a bit of sun and room to stretch their legs certainly couldn't hurt. The fact that he allows it, despite the really nice suit, makes her think she's got it right.

They sit in silence for a moment, their shoulders the only point of contact between them, until Wes' breathing evens out and he thunks his head back against the door.

"Did Travis really say that, about people on ecstasy?" She asks.

Wes' mouth does something complicated, lands somewhere between a frown and a grimace, as he nods.

"That is  _so_ rude," she says, and his surprised laughter makes her grin and shift so that their knees rest together.

"I'll smack him for you later," she offers, just to make him laugh again.

If he sounds a little hysterical, she's willing to ignore it.

\-----

Travis knows the moment Wes notices his presence, because he falls silent mid-sentence and looks up from where he's sitting- on the ground,  _in his suit_ , jesus he really  _must_ be losing it- next to Dakota.

He thinks about waiting for her to get up and leave, give them a moment of privacy, but it's been a rough day and honestly he thinks having someone else around for this might be a good idea.

He's got a whole mini-speech prepared, which Dr. Ryan may have helped with and which details all the ways in which Wes is So Very Wrong about some things (his words, not Dr. Ryan's- but her words were just so  _nice_ and  _soothing_ and the only time Travis can pull that off is when he's talking to victims or witnesses or chlidren, and never with Wes), but then he catches sight of Wes' face and all those words flee because oh  _christ_ he's been  _crying_ , what the  _fuck_ he doesn't even know how to respond to that.

So the only thing he manages is, "I don't hate you!"

Travis has no idea what his face is doing but it must be entertaining, because Wes is staring and has his little _"I'm amused and it's at your expense"_ smirk on.

"His nose isn't twitching," Wes says to Dakota.

"What?" She laughs.

Travis flails a little in confusion, but is ignored.

"His nose twitches when he lies to me."

Dakota laughs again, over Travis' indignant "It does  _not_ ," and Wes turns back to him only to arch an eyebrow imperiously. While sitting on the ground. Clearly having just been crying.

Somehow it still makes him look superior. Travis  _hates_ that.

"Are you saying I'm wrong about your tells, and that you  _are_  lying and you  _do_ hate me?"

...Dammit.

He doesn't bother to respond, trusts that Wes _knows_.

Although, now that he thinks about it, maybe that's one of their problems: just assuming the other is on the same page and not bothering to communicate at all and then-

Travis tables that thought for later, because Wes and Dakota are no longer on the ground, are standing right before him and  _hugging_ , as if he needed more evidence that Wes is having a really off day.

"Sunday? I'll call you," Dakota says, before slipping away.

"What? What's Sunday?"

"None of your business," Wes answers, and when Travis is about to argue, "Spa day, you're not invited."

And then Wes just looks at him for a moment, as if in consideration, and  _pulls him into a hug_.

"What the-"

"Shut up and hug me, Travis."

Travis, wisely, listens.

The embrace is brief (but warm, so warm holy shit), and Wes lets go with a smack to his shoulder.

"See you Monday," he says, and then just before he climbs into his car, "Thanks."

Travis lingers along in the parking lot for awhile, thinking.

 


End file.
